


His Hands

by greenbloodedcomputer



Series: His Body [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hand & Finger Kink, Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbloodedcomputer/pseuds/greenbloodedcomputer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard was a doctor, not an artist. He only appreciated things from the medical side. Until he saw Spock, that was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is my series from Leonard's perspective. I have another series of similar stories [from Spock's perspective](http://archiveofourown.org/series/414113). Comments, questions, and requests are always loved!

Leonard had to sometimes remind himself that his husband was a living being and not a work of art. 

Spock’s fingers were splayed across the science station, each touching and applying the slightest pressure to a different control, ready to flutter to another button at a moment’s notice. They were perfectly still, as if carved out of marble, and so lightly resting upon the panel. Leonard wondered if anyone else ever noticed just how graceful he was when he moved. A word from Jim and suddenly he was turning switches and gently prodding at the knob on the side of the viewer. His fingers rolled off the polished metal with such practice that even a layperson could see he had advanced experience with it. 

When speaking, it was often difficult to decipher a more passionate lecture from all the other, logic-driven bits of advice that Spock provided, but a good way to identify the emotion would be from his hands. If the captain was being particularly difficult, Spock would use his hands, in a very human fashion, to attempt to reinforce his explanation. His hands would sway up and down, gesturing to invisible yet well-thought-out points in his argument as if he were conducting a symphony comprised entirely of logical thoughts and he was desperately trying to communicate his point to the ever-difficult humans. 

In true Vulcan fashion, Leonard was often greeted, in private or before long away missions, with a simple display of two fingers held in a loving offering. He pretended to be annoyed at the gesture, but in reality he loved the sensation. As their fingertips touched, their mental bond was stronger. It was a beautiful reminder that, though they may go on missions separately, they were never truly apart.

Sometimes when they were alone, Leonard would take one of Spock’s hands into his own marled, weathered ones and press it flat against his own palm. The vulcan’s hands were larger, fingers much longer, and at the slightest bit of pressure against Spock’s fingertips the doctor was rewarded with a slight shudder from his husband. Vulcans had the most sensitive hands. He liked to follow the fingerprints and lines that swirled across Spock’s pale digits and trace them down to the light green and rust-coloured veins that appeared on his wrists. His skin was soft and his palms, like the rest of his body, were cool and comfortable. Spock would allow his fingers to fall naturally, curving in the most beautiful way as he held his hand up for inspection. 

That’s all it could be after all. Inspection. Leonard was a doctor, not an artist. He only appreciated things from the medical side. Until he saw Spock, that was. 

Of course, Spock’s hands were more than skilled in the bedroom. Those long, slender fingers took their time running along the doctor’s jawline, down his neck, and over his clavicle as a painter would transfer his creation to a canvas. The touch was so gentle that Leonard often forgot how strong he actually was. He never grabbed, pulled, or showed any sort of force unless it was necessary to assist his lover. He ran gentle fingers over every bump, bruise, wrinkle, and painful spot with such care that the doctor began to think that his own body really was beloved. 

Spock sometimes spoke of his partner's body being a temple, the vessel that held and protected the mind he loved so much, but Leonard viewed the human body as a machine that constantly needed fixing. The vulcan body, however, was a wonderful creation, as cold and mixed up as it was. And every nerve ending from head to toe all stemmed from those sensitive hands. 

Leonard was constantly amazed at how lucky he was to have someone so beautiful that he could touch whenever he needed to. And as vulcans considered their hands a very private part of their body, he remembered to pay as much attention to them as possible. He would hold each palm gently in his own, run his tongue along the underside, and suck each finger between his teeth with such reverence that it felt like a sacred ritual. Spock would respond with small noises that had no real meaning, but flooded both of them with overwhelming emotion. 

While Leonard slept, those fingers would slide up and down his back and short, gentle nails would scratch along his spine as a sign of love. Spock would trail along his naked side, feeling up across his chest, scratching into Leonard’s small tuft of chest hair, down across his skinny-yet-flabby stomach -- down, down, down to rub around his thighs and to eventually wrap around his cock which was hardened in part by his constant, sexually frustrated dreams and in part by his bond mate’s own arousal. 

Spock was careful with him, always remembering that humans were fragile creatures. He would stroke softly, relishing the silky, moist feeling on his sensitive fingers, and nudge Leonard's shoulder softly with his nose. The human always pretended to be asleep much longer than he was, afraid that Spock would cease to be so caring when he awoke, but that was never the case. 

The doctor’s hands were rough and calloused, and when they joined Spock’s in pleasuring himself they always felt so offensive, as if they were treading on sacred territory. Spock never seemed to mind, but often he changed his position and, with Leonard’s permission, found that he achieved more pleasure from penetrating his lover slowly from behind. 

Spock never demanded to be sexually satisfied. Often, he would be satisfied with the feeling of lubricant against the pads of his fingertips and the sensation of sliding long, cool fingers in and out of his husband. He liked when the doctor was vocal, so Leonard allowed grunts and moans to gently escape his throat while they made love. 

Like controlling the science station, Spock knew just when to move his hands, flick his fingers, apply pressure, or just to pay attention to a certain spot. Within minutes, Leonard would be a sweaty mess, rocking his hips back into Spock’s hands in order to be filled and fucked harder. Occasionally Spock would let out an aggravated sigh or an amused huff of air. His fingers remained consistent, strong, in command of Leonard’s entire body until the human fell apart into a mess of orgasmic relief. 

Then the ever-careful hands would be scooping under the human’s tired body and repositioning him and wiping him carefully with a warm rag -- his head first, for comfort, then his neck, to rid him of sweat, then his lower half to clean up their mess. Often, Spock was so soft that Leonard wouldn’t realize he was being touched in his half-awake, half-aroused state. Never did he feel threatened or taken advantage of. He was always so careful. 

As they fell back into a shared, blissful sleep, Leonard would feel the light touches again, tracing along the lines of his face, softly scratching through his hair and across his scalp, along the alcove behind his ears and onto the back of his neck. He would blindly grab for Spock, trying to reciprocate, but often he found himself lost in a dream-like state only able to appreciate the ministrations and enjoy them until his husband fell asleep beside him.

And in those times when Leonard’s mind was troubled more than he could manage, those skilled fingers pressed gently into his face and allowed Spock access to his mind. He’d seen Spock mind-meld with other people and creatures, but nothing compared to being on the receiving end. While his mind was being dissected, assisted, built up with love and reassurances, the only thing that kept him tied to his body and tied to reality was that constant, careful pressure on his psy-points that was both constructive and comforting at the same time. Sometimes, he was desperate to hang on, to grab onto his husband’s uniform with all his strength so as to not float away, but he never felt the need. Spock had him anchored to the ground with a simple touch.


End file.
